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<title>Revenga by Emmerich (Pliskin)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354723">Revenga</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pliskin/pseuds/Emmerich'>Emmerich (Pliskin)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:14:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pliskin/pseuds/Emmerich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing he misses most is people. At least, that’s what Yomiel tells himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yomiel/Unhealthy Coping Habits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Revenga</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing he misses most is people. At least, that’s what Yomiel tells himself. He misses human interaction, <em> craves </em> it. You can only pretend to not be a walking corpse for so long until people start to wonder why the lanky, red-jacketed man has trouble moving his stiff, stiff limbs - wonder why his eyes are lifeless underneath those sharp sunglasses.</p><p>So he pretends. Some days, he’s a cat - <em> Sissel, </em> he’s started calling the thing. He climbs to the top of a roof, suns himself, feels the warmth of the sun spread along his flank. Sometimes, he just watches. Watches people carry on with their lives from the safety of a tree, or a lightpost, or whatever tall thing he can clamber on top of.  When he gets bored or lonely, he scuttles down, lets random passerby stop and pet the little black kitty currently possessed by a very angry, very lonely ghost. It’s a desperate measure, and part of him feels a <em> little </em> bad for the strangers, sure, but it makes both him and the cat happy. As far as he’s concerned, it’s a win win situation.</p><p>Other days, and he’s a little more ashamed of this - other days, he “borrows” some poor stranger’s body, goes to wherever the hell they work, and pretends to be a normal functioning human being. His favorite by far is being a barista - the girl he’s currently pretending to be is a university student - Miranda, he thinks her name is. He talks casually to the people ordering their coffee - “How was your day?”, “The weather outside is great today!”, “Stay warm!” - all generic greetings, yet they get people to talk. They tell him about their lives as he makes their lattes - he loves hearing about people’s lives. </p><p>It ties into his aforementioned habit of people watching, probably. He tries not to think too hard about it. Thinking too hard about it makes him feel cold, like the grave he (unfortunately) avoided is trying to crawl it’s way into his very soul. Hell, it probably already has, considering everything. Does a normal person cope with loss by possessing people? By plotting revenge? No. But he’s also not a person - he’s dead.</p><p>When he’s bored of being the dimwitted but pleasant barista, he takes his leave - hops on the soul of one of the random strangers in the coffee bar, thanks the waitress, who’s just collapsed on the floor, out cold, and leaves. He walks the stranger to the shitty motel Yomiel’s renting under a fake name and stolen identity this week, and hops into the little black kitten. He leaves the very confused stranger, climbs up the building, crawls in through the window, and repossesses his body.</p><p>It’s always cold.</p><p>His real body might be stuck in the limbo between life or death, but it doesn’t feel like it - he shuffles around his apartment, cold and numb and bitter. He’s getting better at manipulating his body and other people, thanks in part to his habit of “borrowing”, but with his own body, he goes out of the way to hurt himself. Sometimes he trips over a cord, falls to the ground. Sometimes he just stubs his toe. No sensation of pain whatsoever. Sometimes he’s cooking food, reaches into the over without a mitt and pretends he can feel the sharp, burning pain regular, living people would feel. Sometimes he does ... other things. He’s tried to kill himself hundreds of times, so many times he’s lost count - but that was mostly at the “beginning” of this never-ending cycle. Each time failed, of course - how can you kill something that’s already dead? He ended up just giving up with the fantastic notion that he would somehow be able to finally die years ago.</p><p>At the end of “his” day, he crashes on the couch, pretends he’s exhausted from a long, hard day’s work. He usually ends his day with the news - he always loved watching the news, and when he was still alive, he and his fiance would kick back, crack open a beer, cuddle up beneath a blanket and watch the events of the world unfold on the screen, laughing at the dumb criminals who did dumb things for dumb reasons. It’s often crept into his thoughts that on the night of his death, she was probably waiting for him in that exact scenario, waiting for him to come home - she probably had to watch the news story covering his death. Shit, probably even the live coverage. How did she feel knowing he became one of those dumb criminals they used to poke fun at?</p><p>He doesn't know exactly how she felt, but he knows it was enough to make her take her own life.</p><p>Yomiel can’t feel sick to his stomach anymore, but he wishes he could. The man who was called Yomiel is dead. In his place is a ghost filled with nothing but emptiness and anger and pain.</p><p>But right now, this ghost filled with nothing but emptiness and pain has more important matters to tend to, namely the little black cat curled in his lap, blissfully unaware of life or death or cops or guns or parks or things beyond its control. The cat doesn't care that the hand petting it is cold. The little kitten is one of the few things keeping him going, even moreso than his desire for revenge. He couldn't protect his fiance, couldn't give her a comfortable, long life - but he can keep the little black kitten he's named after her fed and warm, at the least. Sitting on the shitty little couch, petting the kitten like a <em>normal</em> human being - it fills the hole in his soul ever so slightly.</p><p>He doesn't fall asleep, because he's dead, but he can pretend to fall asleep. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first 'fic in a few years, it's mostly a warm-up for other writing stuff but I felt like I'd share it. I dunno how to really end these note things except lemme know if you want me to write more Ghost Trick stuff?<br/>This wasn't beta'd rip</p></blockquote></div></div>
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